Aftershocks
by SadArticle
Summary: Classic Knight Rider. A suspension for Michael means splitting up the team, but lies threaten to make the situation worse. A coda for the third season episode 'Knight in Disgrace'.
1. Strategy

_**Note:** This is really just an angst-between-the-lines coda for the third season episode 'Knight in Disgrace', where Michael goes undercover to catch a notorious crimelord but can't tell Kitt or Bonnie in case FLAG is under surveillance. Spoilers abound, obviously, if there exists anyone who hasn't seen the episode! Thanks to sara_merry99 for the beta and nostalgic support!_

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* * *

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_Strategy_

Michael

He had a long day ahead of him, and saying goodbye to Kitt was only the beginning. Michael Knight looked back over his shoulder, but the Foundation gates were well out of sight now. Devon knew the truth, but lying to Kitt made this whole act seem real – he _had_ been suspended, he _was_ setting out alone to prove his innocence, without back-up for the first time in two years. Yet there was no thrill at the prospect of surviving on his own wits, and no anger towards those he was leaving behind, because his disgrace was a sham.

He only felt guilty, and very lonely without Kitt.

Slinging his overnight bag over one shoulder, Michael kept going. Walking reminded him of the sacrifice he was making – not giving up a car, but risking a friendship. He knew Devon was right, that his cover would be blown if LaSalle managed to hack into Kitt, but Kitt's words had also hit home: 'We're a team'. His partner had never let him down, and Michael now knew that there was more to Kitt's trust and support than programming. Yet he also recognised how fully he had come to depend on Kitt's constant presence, taking risks in the field and overlooking that instinctive caution he had learned as a cop.

Perhaps going it alone to infiltrate LaSalle's operation was the right move after all, giving him a chance to prove – to himself, if no one else – that he was still the right man for the job. He just wished that lying to Kitt wasn't part of the plan.

Michael's thoughts were interrupted by a shrill beep from his watch. The comlink – Kitt was hailing him. Without thinking, he raised his left wrist to his mouth, but then let it fall back to his side like a dead weight. What could he say that was safe for LaSalle's technicians to overhear, or that might offer any reassurance to Kitt? He had to stick to the script – the board of Foundation directors had decided he was a liability, Devon's hands were tied, and that meant that Michael Knight was suspended from duty until further notice.

He didn't know what was going to happen to Kitt in the mean time, or how the silence and the deception were affecting his partner, and there was no way to find out until it was all over. One way or the other...

_The black Limousine pulled up at the side of the road, gliding to a neat stop with the rear passenger door directly in front of the young man in a black leather jacket who stood waiting. Michael Knight got into the back of the car, folding himself into the low seat._

_"So where are you taking me?" he asked the man beside him. "Disneyland? Your favourite restaurant?"_

_"Not so far, and never again, in that order," Devon Miles replied. He pressed a button on his armrest, and the car started moving again. "Michael – it's on," he announced._

_Michael looked at him, meeting his steel blue eyes in the muted light of the cabin. "LaSalle?"_

_"Yes. One of his errand boys, a petty criminal named Willis, has agreed to assist us in a deal with the District Attorney."_

_Michael sighed, but he had been a cop long enough to know how the system worked._

_"When?" he asked._

_"I shall be sending you and Kitt to New Orleans in two days, ostensibly to tail this Willis character. You are to operate as usual, maintaining surveillance, until a prearranged time and place, when you will catch him with a briefcase packed with pure heroin. The police there will assist." _

_"Devon –" Michael spread his hands. "LaSalle doesn't deal in drugs."_

_"That we know of," Devon corrected him, "and I said that _Willis_ will be found with the heroin, not LaSalle."_

_"OK – then what?"_

_"Then a sample of Willis' merchandise will be found on you, by the police, and I shall be left with no choice but to suspend you while the Foundation investigates your involvement."_

_"You don't have to sound so excited," Michael said. "And then – I'm on my own?"_

_"Well, not entirely," Devon hedged._

_"Then _we're_ on our own, me and Kitt," Michael said. "You know what I mean."_

_"No, Michael. Kitt won't be with you," Devon warned. "It would hardly make sense for you to retain the use of Foundation equipment after appearing to sever all ties with us, now would it? But you won't be left completely at the mercy of LaSalle – I shall stay in touch."_

_"No, I guess not," Michael agreed quietly, "but I'm telling you now, Kitt is not going to like this plan!"_

_"He won't know about it," Devon told him. "Michael, it isn't safe for anyone else to hear about this. Why do you think I arranged to meet you on the move, as it were, and not in the privacy of my office? LaSalle has employed some of the best security and computer technicians in the country – he could be tapped into our system as we speak."_

_"But Devon, Kitt isn't a phone or a camera circuit that can be bugged," he objected. "He's my partner."_

_"Michael, everything that Kitt sees and hears is processed as a stream of data and then uploaded to a mainframe," Devon explained patiently. "His information banks are protected, and the link is secure, but we cannot take the risk. In this instance, the less he knows, the safer you will be."_

_"Does Bonnie agree?"_

_Devon said nothing._

_"You haven't told Bonnie, either?"_

_"It's the only way, Michael."_

_"There's going to be trouble when those two find out," Michael said, shaking his head._

_"If everything goes according to plan, I am willing to take full responsibility, believe me."_

_This time, Michael was silent._

There was a taxi was waiting on the corner, booked to drive him to the airport. He had a three hour flight to New Orleans ahead of him, losing another two hours along the way, and then the fun really got started. Michael checked the time, ignoring the red light that was flashing on the comlink. He thought about taking it off and burying the device at the bottom of his bag, but the connection he shared with Kitt wasn't that easy to ignore.

Besides, Michael thought to himself, it would feel strange without the comlink strapped to his wrist. He hardly ever took it off, despite Kitt's track record of interrupting at inopportune moments. The important thing was that LaSalle would only see a digital watch and his army of techs were unlikely to suspect its more advanced capabilities, so there was no reason to leave behind his remaining link to Kitt.

When Michael looked at the display again, the red LED indicator was dark.

KITT

He couldn't help it, he had to try. Nine minutes and forty seconds after watching Michael Knight leave the Foundation alone and in disgrace, Kitt sent a signal to the comlink. They shared a private frequency, encrypted for security, which only the primary FLAG team could access. Did a suspension mean that his link to Michael had been disconnected? He hoped not.

"Michael?" No response, but at least the line was still open. Kitt sent an alert in case his partner had the receiver turned off, allowing him ten seconds to react and respond.

He could even anticipate Michael's actions on hearing the customary tone, and visualised him raising the comlink to his mouth before answering with, "Yeah, Kitt, what is it?" The electronic alarm had been devised by Bonnie to help Michael communicate more conveniently – and safely – with Kitt. An electronic alarm on a wristwatch was easier to explain than a talking car, as Michael phrased it.

Nothing.

Silence was the most frustrating human condition that Kitt had to deal with, an absence of feedback that could mean anything. Was Michael unable to respond because he couldn't talk privately? Unlikely, unless he had arranged to meet someone outside the grounds of the Foundation. A convenient fault with the device itself was also improbable, nor could Kitt detect any interference over the channel. The steady rhythm of his partner's vital signs reassured Kitt that Michael was alive and well, which left only one disagreeable explanation: Michael was ignoring him.

It was all so illogical! Michael involved with drugs, Devon all but disowning him and supporting an external decision to impose a temporary suspension. Kitt held onto that word, 'temporary'. Such random behaviour must have an eventual resolution. His family unit was rapidly destabilising and no one would tell him why.


	2. Gambit

_ Gambit_

Michael

Without turning to acknowledge his assistant, Boyd LaSalle crooked his finger at Danton. At least Devon Miles uses names and holds eye contact when giving orders, Michael thought. Sick of looking at LaSalle's sneer, Michael watched the other man cross the room towards a computer table and pick up a tube of furled paper. Danton came towards him, holding the roll out like an oversized relay baton for Michael to take the other end.

"You should be familiar with the premises," LaSalle intoned, watching Michael unravel the blue paper, "but perhaps not the wiring for the alarm system. If Devon Miles hasn't already changed the access codes, you'll need to be prepared."

Holding the rolled edges open, Michael looked at the floor plan that Danton had handed him. It was some sort of garage structure, with a maintenance bay, hydraulic lift and a fuel pump island marked out in the architect's neat hand. His eyes were taking in the lines and labels, but he was suddenly seeing the building in 3D, from recent memory. This was Kitt's garage, back at FLAG HQ.

"Well, you obviously are," Michael said, flicking the underside of the plan with his finger. "What if I said no?"

"Then there are other ways," LaSalle shrugged. "We have a lot in common, Mr Knight – a mutual interest in the activities of complete strangers, and tenacious methods of acquiring what we want."

Michael pretended to study the plan.

"I want the Knight 2000," LaSalle went on, "and I don't give up easily. Do you?"

Ignoring the challenge, Michael met the dark, watchful stare of his new employer. "The Knight 2000 isn't mine to take," he said.

LaSalle spread his lips into a flat smile. "Don't play coy," he warned. "The Foundation for Law and Government may own the car and finance its maintenance, but you control the computer. If anyone can bring that machine to me, it's you, Michael Knight."

Keeping his eyes on Michael, LaSalle reached into a desk drawer and produced a slim tape recorder. He slid his thumb along the edge of the device and clicked on a button.

" – _but Michael, without_ you –"

"_I know, pal, I feel the same way_."

Kitt's friendly voice, sounding flat and reduced on tape, was sad to hear, but it was the conversation that Michael reacted to first. LaSalle was playing back the last time he and Kitt had spoken, yesterday morning in the garage, but how? The surveillance cameras only recorded video, not audio.

Devon was right, he thought; LaSalle is tapped into Kitt.

His whole undercover mission was built around the possibility that LaSalle's men could crack Kitt's defences, but having the fact confirmed on tape still threw Michael. This was a violation of his partner's privacy, like viewing him unaware on LaSalle's computer screen. What else did the man know? Was his access limited to audio from the car, or had he also penetrated Kitt's memory? The thought of LaSalle being able to search through his partner's databanks like breaking into a filing cabinet gripped Michael, but he shook it off. There was no way Bonnie would allow such a gaping breach of Kitt's defences.

"Touching," LaSalle smirked, shutting off the tape hiss that followed Michael telling Kitt to 'take care'. "I'm sure 'Kitt' will be pleased to see you again, when you return to the Foundation."

Michael sighed. He didn't want Kitt involved in LaSalle's schemes, but going back for him would be the perfect chance to get a message to Devon. Somehow. And Kitt _would_ be pleased to see him, he knew, although the thought of his partner's unbroken loyalty and affection only made Michael feel worse.

"When do I leave?" he asked sullenly.

"When Danton is ready with the jet," LaSalle announced, shooting a glance at his pilot. "That should give you enough time to decide how you're going to do it." He laced his fingers neatly together over the desk blotter. "Any ideas?"

Michael already knew what he would have to do, but it was dangerous. And unfair.

"Don't worry," he said. "You'll get the car."

KITT

Returning to the Foundation alone, after 'dropping off' the first candidate for a new partner, Kitt prepared to explain his actions to Bonnie. He knew that she was afraid for him, unsettled by Michael's departure and how quickly Devon was working to replace him, but Kitt's own worries precluded him from sharing hers. Why fight for his own existence when the sole purpose of his creation was currently unaccounted for? Without Michael, what would happen now?

Kitt was programmed to work with Michael Knight, and even that prearranged pairing had taken time to develop into a friendship. He didn't want to start again at the bottom of another sharp learning curve.

Pulling up outside the garage and finding it empty, Kitt scanned for Bonnie. He knew she could only be in the computer lab or the research and development unit, keeping busy until his scheduled return from the test run, because she was avoiding Devon. There had been a disagreement between them earlier that morning, Kitt assumed about Michael, and now Bonnie refused to enter the house. Division breeding dissonance.

He picked her up in the labs, but didn't send word of his early reappearance. For the first time since saying goodbye to Michael, Kitt welcomed the solitude and an opportunity to analyse his situation. Selecting a recording by Enrico Caruso for background music, he retreated into his CPU to think.

Bonnie was angry with the board of directors for suspending Michael, and upset with Devon for not fighting their decision hard enough, but Kitt didn't have the force of her emotions. He didn't deny that he missed Michael, or that he was also confused by the unexpected turn of events in New Orleans, but logic helped to dampen his fears. Michael was not involved in drugs; ergo it was a fair assumption that the charges against him were false. All the information he required to prove his innocence was to find out who was trying to frame him, and the obvious suspect was Boyd LaSalle. Kitt thought he knew where Michael was, and what he might be doing, but the comlink was out of range.

Devon's behaviour was more of a mystery. Like his late creator Wilton Knight, Kitt understood Mr Miles to value the rights of the individual over the institution – surely he would never turn his back on Michael so readily because the men who ran the Foundation told him to? Either he was biding his time until he could gather enough evidence to defend Michael personally, or he knew more than he was willing to reveal. Whatever his reasoning, Kitt knew that he would be the last to find out. Michael had tried to leave him without saying goodbye, and neither Devon nor Bonnie had thought fit to consult with him about what he wanted to do next. Kitt knew that being the only advanced artificial intelligence in existence made him unique, but such a privileged position was not enough to earn him a voice within the Foundation.

Caught up in a loop of questions and hypotheses, Kitt was slow to react when his transponder was remotely activated, causing a nanosecond delay in opening a channel. He initially assumed it was Bonnie calling, having heard from security that he was home, but then Kitt realised where the signal was coming from.

The comlink. Michael.

He shut off the music. "Michael, is that you? Please respond."

Please, he thought, please let me know that you are safe.

"Kitt?" His friend's voice came clear and strong across the link, sounding to Kitt like he could almost be speaking from Devon's office. "Yeah, it's me, it's Michael."

"Where are you?" Kitt asked, attempting to trace the location of his signal. He was close, within a range of 300 metres.

"Close by," Michael told him quietly. "Can you do something for me?"

Kitt hesitated. "Of course, Michael," he answered, distressed by his reluctance. Under normal circumstances, he would have agreed immediately.

"Thanks, buddy. I'm on my way to the Foundation, but I'll need to avoid the main drive – can you scan for me, and have the rear gates open when I arrive?"

The rear gates were only used as access for the semi, which was too wide and heavy to negotiate the circular drive in front of the mansion. The alternative route connected directly to the forecourt outside the garage complex.

"What should I look for?"

"A Limousine," Michael's voice told him.

Devon must have sent a car for him, unable to tell Kitt when he was out on a test drive. Another reason for disliking Charles 'You can call me Chuck' Wallyburton.

"One of the Foundation's fleet?" he asked hopefully.

"Ah, no," Michael hedged, "another Limo."

"Michael – did Devon send for you?"

"Not exactly, but don't say anything, Kitt. Please?"

Kitt didn't like this. There was a furtive tone in his partner's voice that was making him apprehensive, but he had to trust him. What else could he do?

"As you wish," Kitt confirmed. "Is that all?"

"For now," Michael said. "Thanks, pal."

"Michael, I hope you know what you're doing."

How many times must he have issued the same warning over the past two years? Not that Michael ever heeded his counsel, stubbornly insisting that he could take care of himself. Kitt knew that his human partner was perfectly capable, both physically and mentally, of working alone, but Kitt's argument had always been that he didn't have to. They were partners, after all.

"So do I, Kitt," Michael replied. "Be ready."

"I'll be here, Michael."

Kitt processed this new development: Michael was safe and returning to the Foundation. The only difficulty would be if Devon hadn't sent for him after all, and tried to block whatever Michael was planning.

Kitt scanned the premises. Devon hadn't moved from his desk all morning, but Bonnie would probably on her way back to the garage soon, expecting a report from Kitt on the aborted test run with Charles Wallyburton. He couldn't risk her meeting Michael here, although he knew where her sympathies lay.

Kitt opened a link to her console. "Bonnie?"

"Kitt?" she responded immediately. "Have you completed the run already?"

"Yes, Bonnie," he told her. "Mr Wallyburton had to leave early. I'm not sure he would be the right candidate for the position at all."

"I know he isn't," Bonnie said bluntly. "Don't worry about it, Kitt. Let me just finish this code, and I'll join you."

"There's no hurry, Bonnie," Kitt heard himself insisting. "I'm not going anywhere. In fact, this is a rare opportunity to switch off and charge my power packs for half an hour."

"Why do they need recharging?" she demanded. "What has that – man – being putting you through?"

"The usual manoeuvres and demands on my systems, nothing too exerting," Kitt admitted, using the brave voice he employed when covering for Michael. Would the ploy work this time?

"No problems?"

"None at all!"

"I think you should run your self-diagnostic program, Kitt, just as a precaution," Bonnie advised. She sounded genuinely concerned, which wasn't his intention at all.

"I will, Bonnie," he promised her. "Thank you."

Deceiving Bonnie was only making the current situation worse, but it wouldn't be for long. Devon would have to listen if Michael came to him with proof of his innocence. Opening the comlink channel, Kitt waited for his partner's arrival at the gates.

The worst two days of his existence would soon be over.


	3. Checkmate

_Checkmate  
_

The miles and the roads and the hours passed by. Michael, driving the car, didn't seem to be in a talkative mood, so Kitt busied himself with routine background tasks. It was enough for him that they were leaving Louisiana; the wildlife in this state was far from appealing.

"I'm glad to see the back of that place," he ventured. "Any city where cars have to fight alligators for a parking space is far too exotic for my taste."

Michael looked at Kitt's voice modulator, his lips flickering into a brief smile, but said nothing.

"Michael, why don't I drive while you get some rest?" Kitt tried again. "It took a whole day to drive down here, and now we're –"

Why hadn't that occurred to him before? The computer instantly mapped out the route they had taken from Los Angeles to New Orleans, avoiding the more direct I-10 in favour of the desert highways that allowed Kitt to travel at top speed.

"Are we going home, Michael?"

Suddenly everything settled into place. Running at nearly 4,000 miles there and back, the detour would be a test of Kitt's endurance, not to mention his fuel management system, but he no longer cared. Michael must have taken care of whatever exigency required him to steal Kitt back from the Foundation, and now they were returning to California.

"Michael?" Kitt prompted, when his only response was to tightly clamp his lips together.

He cleared his throat."Yeah, Kitt?"

When he ran a voice analysis on the only two words that his partner had uttered in two hours, Kitt's newly acquired ease was interrupted. A scan of Michael's vital signs only compounded his agitation – Michael was under extreme stress, almost rigid with tension.

"Is the Foundation our destination, Michael?" Kitt demanded.

"Yes, Kitt."

"Are we staying?"

"No."

"And what criminal activity do you have planned this time?"

Michael flashed a sharp glance at the modulator, but didn't answer.

"May I call ahead to Bonnie, and give her our estimated time of arrival?"

"No!" Michael almost exploded. "Sorry, Kitt," he sighed, recovering himself. "Just ... don't do anything yet. It's important."

"I don't like this at all," Kitt confessed. "Perhaps when we get to the Foundation, I should stay there. A flight back to New Orleans will be quicker than driving, not to mention a lot easier for you."

Michael's grip on the steering wheel increased until his knuckles turned white. "No, Kitt."

"In fact, why didn't you accept LaSalle's offer of his private jet, and leave me behind?"

"There's no way in hell I would leave you there," he snarled. "Kitt, I'm sorry for all the mystery, but please don't back out on me now."

"Of course I won't," he told him. "But can you at least tell me what you intend to do there?"

Michael shook his head. "I have to see Devon about something. It won't take long."

"Devon? Michael, is that wise?"

"It has to be done, Kitt," was all Michael would say.

"Michael, I don't know what's going on, or what's happened to you recently, but I can see that you're tired and obviously under considerable duress." Michael looked out of the side window. "Let me drive, Michael. I'll wake you when we reach New Mexico."

He stared long and hard at the side mirror, at nothing, and then put a hand to his eyes.

"Thanks, Kitt," Michael said softly. "Straight there, buddy, as fast as you can."

Kitt watched him sleeping fitfully in the red glow of the darkened cabin, shifting position more frequently than usual and opening his eyes at every change of direction or speed. He didn't know what to do for the best. Should he alert Bonnie? She would probably be following his homing signal anyway. What if he were to slow down, or take the wrong road? But there was nowhere else to go. Back to LaSalle's mansion, with monsters crawling around in the undergrowth? No, thank you.

Turning onto another highway in another city, Kitt decided to follow Michael's instructions. Whatever happened at the Foundation, he wouldn't be alone.

* * *

_Fortress_

Bonnie

"Doctor Barstow, Mr Miles has been shot!"

For a second, Bonnie could only stare at the security guard. Her heart lurched, and seemed to rise up into her throat. What the hell was happening around here? First Michael's suspension, then Kitt taking off, and now –

A terrible connection occurred to her.

"Oh no," she moaned. "No! Who shot him?"

The guard was backing out of the lab. "I don't know all the details yet, Dr. Barstow –"

"Was Michael here?" she screamed, panicking. "Please tell me ..."

"It – I – He was seen on the security cameras, but I can't believe it, Dr. Barstow! No way!"

Desperate to reach Devon, Bonnie pushed him out of her way. The office was miles away, across the manicured grounds of the Foundation estate. Sobbing and gasping for breath, she ran flat out over asphalt drive and springy grass.

It didn't make sense, and yet it _did_, because nothing about Michael's sudden fall from grace felt right. His suspension and dismissal over a drugs plant, when he had faced a murder charge in the past and received the Foundation's full support. Then there was Devon's calm acceptance of what amounted to a personal betrayal, not to mention the complete lack of communication over what had happened. And Kitt! What did Michael want with him, and where had they gone?

The Foundation building, when Bonnie finally skirted the corner and arrived on scene, was in chaos. There was an increased security presence, all of the men at arms, and the administration staff in the foyer looked visibly shaken. Without slowing her feet, Bonnie headed straight for Devon's office.

"Devon!" she called, adding under her breath: "Oh God, please, please let him be alive."

"I'm here, Bonnie," a familiar and yet wholly unexpected voice greeted her.

Bending over against a stitch in her side, she could only stare at him. Devon Miles, his suit rumpled but otherwise looking perfectly composed, was sitting on a chair in the hallway outside his office.

"What –?" she gasped. "Devon, what is going _on_ around here?"

"I'm sorry, truly sorry, Bonnie," he told her, and she had to believe him. "I never intended to cause you any distress, but there was no other way to stage the whole scene convincingly."

Bonnie struggled for words. "'Stage the scene'?" she repeated, wiping her eyes.

"Come with me," he said, rising to his feet. "We need to talk, but not here."

Bonnie perched on a low wooden bench, watching Devon Miles pace the floor of the sauna. He kept glancing at his watch. "At Kitt's top speed, Michael should be out of the state by now."

She gave a start. "Kitt was here?"

"Of course," Devon said, and then stopped in his tracks and looked at her. "He doesn't know why Michael came back – at least, that was the plan. The confrontation between us was purely for LaSalle's benefit, to allay any suspicions he might have of Michael's motivation. Regrettably, that meant surrendering the Bohr-Fellows key, but the gamble could pay off."

Bonnie squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her fingertips hard against her temples. The past five days made even less sense to her now that Devon had provided the missing pieces of the puzzle, because she couldn't accept what he was telling her. Her problem wasn't the undercover mission to bring down LaSalle, from the informer framed in a drugs bust to the secret communication between Devon and Michael, but the lies! Michael lying to Kitt, Devon lying to her, Kitt covering for Michael – weren't they supposed to be a team? Hadn't Devon promised her that she would be actively involved in the Foundation's investigations if she returned to work for them again? If she had known that her role would remain the same, waiting on the sidelines while the men formed a boy's own club, then she might have thought twice about coming back.

"Bonnie, are you all right?" he asked, gently touching her shoulder.

She looked up. "Devon, if you have to ask, then maybe I shouldn't be here."

"Oh Bonnie, don't say that," he pleaded.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Implicitly," he told her, sitting beside her on the hard wooden slats, "but this mission is so sensitive, Bonnie. LaSalle trusts no one; he will be watching Michael's every move. Surely you can see why caution is imperative at this time?"

Bonnie got to her feet, taking over Devon's anxious pacing. The anger and frustration she felt was making her sick, coiled in her stomach and rising up into her throat. "I get the need for secrecy, Devon, but not why you would keep Kitt from protecting Michael," she told him, keeping her back turned. This needed to be said, and she couldn't get through it while looking into those caring eyes. "Or why you couldn't tell me what you were planning."

"Bonnie, I've told you," Devon exhaled slowly. "For all his sentience and humanity, Kitt is essentially a computer. Working with him every day, it's easy to forget, I know, but I couldn't let sentiment blind me to the possibility that LaSalle's men might gain access to him, too."

"No, you're wrong," Bonnie said, turning to face him. "With the right equipment and a lot of time, a team of experienced technicians might be able to tap into the private carrier frequency that Kitt shares with the Foundation computers, but never Kitt himself."

"Bonnie!" Devon frowned. "We are both aware that there are chinks in Kitt's armour. Perhaps the threat is infinitesimal, but it does exist. This way at least, Kitt _is_ protecting Michael."

Folding her arms, Bonnie regarded him coldly. "And what are the 'chinks' in my armour?"

He smiled sadly. "Kitt is. Your history together precludes you being able to lie to him, Bonnie. He would sense you were keeping something from him. Maybe you could fool LaSalle, but not Kitt – and then the truth would come out before we were ready. Before Michael is ready."

"You can't toy with people's trust like this, Devon," she said, not sure if she was talking about Kitt or herself now. "I need to know where I stand if I'm to do my job properly. Kitt needs to know! Telling him lies and then expecting him to behave as normal is not only dangerous for Kitt, but for Michael as well. Whose idea was it for Michael to come back for him?"

"LaSalle's," Devon admitted. "Michael could hardly refuse."

"And what if Kitt had refused to go?" she demanded. "The story is that Michael has been fired, forced out to protect the Foundation's reputation. You were even trialling replacements!"

Devon held up his hands. "No, no, Bonnie," he said. "Charles Wallyburton is a federal agent, working with the Foundation to put LaSalle away."

She glared at him. "Do you know what Kitt went through when you announced he was to have a new partner?"

"Kitt made his feelings towards Mr Wallyburton perfectly clear, as I recall," Devon told her, his lips twitching into a smile. "And I realise that all the upheaval this week can't have been easy for him, but Michael knows Kitt better than anyone, and Kitt trusts him."

There was nothing she could say. Devon was right, Kitt trusted his partner. Hugging herself, Bonnie sighed. "What happens now?"

"Now," Devon said, dusting down the seat of his trousers, "I shall need your help."


	4. Endgame

_ Endgame_

Michael Knight stared hard at the chequered screen on Kitt's monitor. His mind wasn't really on the game, but chess had become a way of speaking without words between the two of them. He would offer to 'let' Kitt win if the sensitive computer was being particularly moody, and Kitt would suggest a game whenever he wanted to spend some off-duty time with Michael. Depending on the subtext, the result was either a relaxing game between friends, with pride and competition put aside for an hour, or a lengthy tournament in which Michael played to win and Kitt became an electronic Karpov who wouldn't let him.

This game was Michael's attempt to make amends. He didn't know what Kitt was playing for.

"Nope," he sighed, slapping his hand against the dash. "I give in."

"The term is 'resign', Michael," Kitt corrected him, "and are you sure?"

"Yeah, pal," he said, scrutinising the white pieces for any obvious moves Kitt might use to challenge his resignation. "I'm through."

"Would you like me to save the game?"

Michael frowned. "Sure, why not?"

"Thank you, Michael."

"But don't spend all night brushing up on theory and running simulations," Michael warned. "You have an unfair advantage as it is."

"I won't, you know that," Kitt protested. "Actually, chess is more about psychology than logic or mathematics, giving the human mind a natural advantage over a computer program."

Michael gave a snort of laughter. "I was kidding! I know you always play fair, Kitt."

He swung his feet out of the car and stamped them on the garage floor, trying to restore some sensation. His backside was numb, and his tired eyes were stinging from staring at Kitt's monitor half the night, but the discomfort was a small price to pay for restoring their friendship.

"Thanks for a good game, partner," he said, levering himself upright against the doorframe.

"Any time, Michael," Kitt gave his usual reply. "Will it be business as usual in the morning?"

Throwing his arms above his head, Michael stretched until various joints popped. "No doubt," he groaned. "You got something planned?"

"Of course not, Michael," Kitt said, "but I like to be prepared."

"And that's exactly where I'm going now," Michael yawned; "to prepare myself with at least eight hours sleep. 'Night, Kitt. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Michael."

He got all the way to the door built into a side wall of the garage, his hand on the latch, before Kitt called out to him.

"Michael?"

Michael turned and looked back at the car, still lit from inside by the dashboard. "Yeah, buddy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Michael," Kitt told him, "but I want to thank you for something you said."

Perplexed, Michael walked back to his partner's side. "Something I said? When?"

"At the Fire Mountain facility," Kitt explained, "after I stopped speaking to you." Michael smiled. "I don't know if you meant it, or what the consequences would have been, but you told me that you would abort entry into the facility if I didn't think I could penetrate the concrete wall. A redundant question of course, but I am grateful for the gesture."

Had he said that? Breaking into the chemical storage facility was all a bit of a blur to him now, but Kitt's memory was faultless and that moment obviously stood out for him. Opening the driver's door, Michael crouched down and faced the dash. "Grateful? Why?"

"For asking my opinion," Kitt told him simply. "You were willing to risk a crucial stage of the mission for me."

"Better late than never, I guess, hey pal?" Michael offered weakly. "Kitt – would you have agreed to the plan, if I'd told you in advance?" he asked, idly twitching the locked steering wheel.

"Of course, Michael," Kitt replied. "The worst part was not knowing if you were safe, or where to locate you. Forewarned, I would still have been concerned, that seems to be my default setting, but not helpless. Perhaps I could even have gone with you to New Orleans, instead of being stolen to order."

"That sounds like a better deal," Michael agreed. "It was hard without you."

When he stepped out of the garage five minutes later, there was someone waiting for him beneath the security light. The sight of the polished Devon Miles standing outside in his tailored suit was so incongruous that Michael was briefly lost for words.

"What's the matter with you?" Devon asked, batting a persistent moth away from his face.

"Ah, nothing," Michael shrugged. "Just didn't expect to find you out here, that's all."

"Yes, I see your point," the older man conceded. "It must be that I've reverted to old habits these past few days, having to arrange clandestine meetings in unusual locations." Devon hastily corrected himself: "That is, old habits from my career in the SOE."

"Right," Michael said. "I could have saved you a walk, though – I was heading for the office."

"Then let's start in that direction, shall we?" Halfway across the forecourt, Devon cleared his throat. "How is Kitt?" he asked.

Michael looked at him, and then glanced over his shoulder at the looming structure of the garage. "He's fine. Why?"

"You've been sitting in there for over two hours," Devon informed him. "Is anything wrong?"

"No, just a long game of chess," he said. "We're still not finished, in fact – Kitt's saved it for another time."

"Chess," Devon echoed, nodding. "That's good."

Michael pulled a face, not sure what to say.

"Was it worth it, Michael?"

"What?" Michael asked, studying his boss' profile.

"Going to such lengths to trap LaSalle."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Yes, but at great risk to yourself," Devon said. "You were never meant to be a lone operative, Michael, but part of a team. Bonnie reminded me of that."

"Kitt was saying much the same thing." Michael smiled. "Told you there'd be trouble."

Devon stopped in the middle of the drive. "You haven't answered my question, Michael."

"Was it worth it?" Michael asked, turning to face him. "Yes. LaSalle is where he belongs, making another little corner of the world a safer place, and Linda got her daughter back. Would I do it again? Not alone."

"Kitt?"

"He's my edge, Devon – without him, you'd have been looking for a replacement a whole lot sooner," Michael said. "Does that answer your question?"

FIN


End file.
